Miracle Man
by Sealcake
Summary: Arataka Reigen is a simple man. Normal family, typical childhood, above average grades, and the like. So, out of all the jobs, why a psychic agency? / Esper!Reigen
1. Chapter 1: Son, plushies aren't meant to

**Chapter 1: Son, plushies aren't meant to float**

The Reigens were your normal, charming, friendly neighbourhood family. They lived in a normal house, and watered the normal and numerous plants that grew in their small garden.

Mrs. Reigen was a normal young woman in her twenties; sweet, caring and hardworking, if a little nonchalant sometimes. She was married to Mr. Reigen, a charming salaryman who loved food, his work and his family.

His completely normal, average, run-of-the-mill family.

"Oh dear," Megumi Reigen stated, not with the cold, factual finality of a typical statement, but with the surprised boredom of a parent that has seen their child eat, only to dirty themselves less than a second after. If only that was her current predicament. "Sweetie, he is doing it again."

Kazuo Reigen looked up from his food, gave a long, tired sigh, and looked over to where his wife had her eyes fixated at. There, sitting on a green rug, was his one-year-old son; Arataka Reigen. His tiny hands were occupied with moving around a few wooden blocks and organizing them into a small pile—if the trembling, about-to-fall-over structure could be called that, and—

' _There it goes,'_ thought Kazuo, watching with slightly concerned eyes as the tower tilted a little too much to the left side and fell. A piece would probably fall on his son, who would then have a fit as typical to a child of his age, and then the usual routine would play out: his son would cry, Kazuo would comfort him until he either fell asleep, stopped crying or distracted himself with another game, and that would be it.

Or that _should_ be it, as instead of obeying the laws of psychics, Kazuo watched how the wooden pieces paused mid air, righted themselves and went back to form a neater, more stable structure right where they had been before.

It wasn't hard to pinpoint who was the culprit, as his chubby hand was still innocently extended towards the pile of blocks. Bright orange hair, lips drew into a thin line, brows furrowed in concentration and cheeks red from effort, Arataka Reigen sat like what had just happened was a normal occurrence for him, an act as natural as breathing, if only a little more demanding.

His face then changed into the closest approximation of smugness that a child could do.

Kazuo slowly exhaled, feeling older than he was. He then looked at his wife, whose hands seemed indecisive over whether to rub her eyes or hide her face, resulting in the strange combination of the woman rubbing her entire face while sighing _that_ sigh— the parental one, the one where an adult has seen their child dirty themselves for the one hundredth time. Oh, how he wished that was all they had to deal with.

He pinched his nose and looked back at his son, who was still playing with the wooden blocks— one would occasionally float over to him, stumble out of the air _somehow_ , fall on the floor, be dragged by nothing and then float again so it could be picked up by Arataka, who had started to happily hum the theme song of a kids show.

It was— his son treated this as if it were the most normal thing on the world. Kazuo wasn't dumb, he knew how curious Arataka was, he looked at new things with childlike wonder and accepted them into his own little word with welcoming hands; treated them as things that happened, amazing and yet— _normal_.

But those powers?

No, they definitely were not.

Wiping the crumbs away with a napkin, Kazuo stood up and walked over to his son, who was now forming another messy pile of blocks, this time crawling — _thankfully_ — to pick up extra pieces for his new tower. Bending down, Kazuo greeted his son with a bright smile.

Arataka stopped moving, game forgotten, to stare at him for a second before extending his two arms, eyes (brown, like dark chocolate) shining.

"Dada!" His tiny hands grabbed at the air, a clear demand for being picked up.

Kazuo gave a low chuckle before grabbing his son by the armpits. With a grunt of effort, he raised Arataka from the ground and away from the magical floating blocks. Arataka babbled on his ear, occasionally emitting a word that could be construed into an _actual_ word. Kazuo just emitted low hums of agreement and the occasional word, patting his son on the back.

After little Arataka ended his babbling, Kazuo looked at his child. "C'mon, Taka, your tv show is about to start."

Arataka narrowed his eyes, racking his brain before his whole face light up, having made the connection between 'tv', 'show' and 'start'. He tugged at his father's shirt, happy exclamations coming out of his mouth.

Kazuo chuckled again, shoulders shaking as he carefully walked over the wooden blocks. Arataka kept moving in his arms, tugging at his shirt for a moment only to try and escape the next; truly a bundle of energy.

He stepped past Megumi, who gave an understanding nod before standing up and walking over to the wooden blocks, gathering them in a big pile then promptly shoving them into a box. They would have to find a replacement for them, something that didn't make Arataka use those— those powers. But that would have to be for later, as his son was once again tugging at his clothes, small frown in place.

' _Impatient little brat.'_ Kazuo smiled, though, watching how Arataka's cheeks puffed as his tiny fists pounded at his shirt with all the force an one-year-old kid could muster. The little kid was probably getting desperate, but his adorable frustrated expression was worth it.

That was it, before he noticed that his son was staring behind him. Had something caught his attention? Was he trying to call his mom? It looked so, with the way he extended his arm, tiny hand open, as if trying to—

"Oh no," Megumi whispered, softly. Her voice once again carried that tiredness, the one of having seen something bad and disappointing happen, something completely predictable but inevitable in the end, and be completely nonchalant about it. "He is—"

"—Doing it again, isn't he?" Kazuo finished. If his arms weren't full of infant right now, he would have rubbed his temples in frustration. ' _This kid…'_

"Gwah," Arataka babbled, one fist crumpling the fabric of his father's shirt.

He was just so innocent.

Heaving a sigh, Kazuo repositioned Arataka in his arms and walked over. In a swift move, he snatched the dog plushie out of the air and shoved it into his son's waiting arms, the latter cradling it as if it were a baby and chattering to it.

Mustering his best stern voice, Kazuo let out a simple, "Arataka." His son gazed up at him, curious (blue, like the sky) eyes at attention. "Don't do that." He probably didn't understand — enough to recognize he was being scolded, maybe, but not _why_. For all Kazuo knew, little Arataka would probably misunderstand and stop chattering with the stuffed dog instead of—

Kazuo, for what seemed like the tenth time that day, gave a tired sigh.

' _Later,'_ he thought, ' _We can deal with this later.'_ He already felt like twenty years had been shaved off his life, so he might as well give himself a break before trying to deal with his son's problem.

Clearing his mind of those troubling thoughts, Kazuo smiled, wrapped his arms around Arataka tighter and slowly walked over to the other room.

As he stepped through the doorframe, he stopped in his tracks, turned his head slightly to look back at his wife and jokingly commented, "For the record, I blame your family's naming tradition."

Kazuo chuckled wholeheartedly at his wife's pained expression. Megumi knew what he meant, though — the jab had been transformed into an inside joke by now — but she always got this one expression that screamed betrayal, resignation and acceptance, that was way too funny to pass up.

He kept chuckling even when he reached the couch, sat the wiggling Arataka down by his side and turned on the tv, past frustrations forgotten as he looked at the tiny wonder that was his child. Arataka was hugging the stuffed dog, eyes reflecting the vibrant colors of the tv show; completely captivated by the action scenes and colorful characters.

With a true smile this time, Kazuo Reigen reached over and put his hand on the orange mop that was Arataka's hair, running his hand through it and laughing when his son puffed up his cheeks indignantly.

Maybe his family wasn't all that normal, maybe Arataka did things that no child should do— things that trespassed the boundaries of what was natural, things that distorted reality. But he was just a child, and there would be plenty of time to fix that problem later.

 _For now, though?_ —Kazuo mused when Megumi came and sat down on the couch, putting a blanket over their legs and Arataka on her lap— For now they could act like a normal family, watching a cheap action kids show on tv on a typical day.

Problems could be postponed, be solved later—Kazuo wasn't going to lose invaluable family time over them.

* * *

 **AN:** I'm dead. I'm physically dead. This plot bunny has been chasing me for days and it finally caught up to me, I cannot run any longer for my lungs have shrunk into another plane of existence. It has finally caught up to me, bitten me in my butt and is apparently planning to stay there. It is not content with being a self-indulgent fanfic, oh no, it wants—it _seeks_ —validation, like all great plot bunnies that follow me; that is why I run from them. I have to.

 **EDIT:** I think I fixed the dashes. I think. They weren't showing up in mobile for some reason.


	2. Chapter 2: Sweetie, stop doing that

**Chapter 2: Sweetie, stop doing that**

When Arataka Reigen was born, nothing really important happened, or rather, nothing _abnormal_ happened — because as it was, if you were to tell Megumi that the birthday of her sweet son wasn't important, she would stare at you, silently, as in considering your opinion and then discarding it as irrelevant and beneath her to even answer —, in fact, the only weird thing about Ary that day, and the following days, had been his bright orange hair and how his brown eyes seemed to shift into blue. The latter, she had assumed, was a trick of the light, and the former just recessive genes from her husband's family— gods knew that Ary didn't take after her when it came to hair, his messy carrot mop of hair a stark contrast when compared with her long, wavy black locks.

All in all, Arataka was a normal boy. Healthy, active, and naturally curious— and recently, with the growing desire of helping others.

Of course, being a kid who watched superhero shows, it was no wonder that his idea of helping others involved things such as special moves or secret techniques. Which wouldn't have been necessarily a _bad_ thing if Arataka had remained a _normal_ boy.

Kazuo and her still blamed the name, if only jokingly, because they didn't have anything else to blame it on. Right now, though, she silently cursed it —what kind of family name was Reigen, anyways?— as she strode forward with purpose.

She had seen this kind of scene before, enough times that she had to fight down the urge to relay it to her husband and watch with impassive eyes as the familiar scene unfolded before her (' _Arataka, don't do that'_ he would say, and Ary, in all his toddler wisdom, would answer a simple ' _Dada!'_ ). Not now — now she had to intervene. It was one thing for Ary to levitate objects and generally screw with the laws of physics inside the four walls of the house, apart from prying eyes and gossip-loving neighbours, where it was safe and nobody could hurt him.

Outside was another thing entirely.

Megumi arrived just in time to see Arataka take the kitty from the air, small hands moving around the feline until he put one under its armpits, and another on its back, near the tail. He then smiled, teeth showing, and turned around to give the cat to a little girl, whose eyes were open wide enough that Megumi feared for a moment her pupils would shrink and disappear into the sclera.

The little girl then opened her mouth, and Megumi held her breath, shaky hands clutching the plastic grocery bag — the moment seemed to stretch on, impossibly, between the girl inhaling and moving her lips to shape words.

"Cool!" the girl shouted, nodding vigorously as to show her excitement. She grinned —absently, Megumi noticed the tooth gap— and then extended her arms, accepting the squirming kitty on her hands and cradling it to her chest.

Arataka smiled even wider, eyes bright. He puffed out his chest, opened his mouth, and that was all he managed to do before he was suddenly yanked back, a hitch-pitched 'Hey!' escaping his mouth.

The girl before him startled, but by the time she registered what was happening Arataka was already a few meters away, and then more, and more. The distance just kept growing between them until Megumi could only see her, and the tree, and the kitty, as little more than dots, and only then did she let go.

Arataka turned around, hands fumbling with the hat of his hoodie. Small tears pricked the corners of his eyes; a result of embarrassment at being dragged in public, even though the streets were practically deserted. He was pouting, gaze down, but he didn't make a peek.

Almost like a balloon, Megumi deflated on the spot, shoulders slumping as a weight far greater than her fell on them, settling like an unwanted guest in a house whose owner was too weak-willed to throw them out.

Her legs felt sluggish as she bent down, one hand balancing her body as the nervousness almost made her trip. Mechanically, she heard rather than felt the grocery bag being set down on the pavement.

 _Inhale._ Inefficient; the girl— she saw, didn't she?

 _Exhale._ She is just a little girl, she won't remember.

Arataka was still looking down— at the pavement, his shoelaces, didn't matter.

 _Apologize._ He is just a kid, too.

"Ary." _Your_ kid. "Ary, I'm— please, look at me, I'm sorry. That was rather rude of me—" She reached out with a hand, but froze at the almost imperceptible flinch of her son.

 _Inhale._ "Ary." He looked to the side, cheeks red. "Ary, can you please look up?" Narrowed blue eyes, furrowed brows; he was thinking it over. _Exhale._

Relief washed over her like a wave. It quickly dried into foam when Arataka fixated his gaze on the ground, a frustrated murmur too low to pick up escaping his mouth.

"Ary?" Tentative. Baby steps.

"She just wanted her cat," he repeated, lips pursing. ' _I just wanted to help,'_ went unsaid. "Floating kitty special move!" however, did not.

For a moment, Megumi considered the risk of laughing in such a situation, lips drew in such a thin line that it almost hurt. The fact that Arataka's whole face light up like a Christmas tree after saying that phrase, tiny fists shaking in —determination? excitement?— in front of his adorable little face —was- was he _sparkling?_ — didn't help at all.

One of her eyebrows twitched. _In._

Arataka radiated pride.

 _Out._ Megumi sighed from deep within her, a part of her now understanding why her husband was getting so many white hairs lately.

She reached out with a hand, cupping one of her son's cheeks and tilting his head upwards. Steely blue eyes (like hers) greeted her, and her lips twisted upwards in a sad smile. This wasn't the first, and it wouldn't be the last, time this has happened.

"Ary, I'm sorry—" A low, ambiguous _hmm_ was his reply. "I shouldn't have done that." A raised eyebrow, pursed lips; sarcastic disbelief, probably Kazuo's influence at work. "And you shouldn't have wandered off, either." A slight flinch, and suddenly Ary's hands didn't know where to go; he scratched his cheek, raised one finger as in sudden realization, dropped it then clasped his hands, before furiously unclasping them and shoving both into the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie.

Megumi sighed, hand moving from his cheek to rest on his shoulder. "Your powers, I know you wanted to help, but not everybody will be as accepting as that little girl."

Arataka blinked, before avoiding her gaze, and looked down, silent. Small, closed off, with his head covered by his hoodie— he truly looked like the little three year old he was, with chubby cheeks and more-than-he-should-have consciousness over his actions.

The sight squeezed Megumi's heart.

' _This is it, I'm going to burn the family name.'_

"Hey." Arataka looked up, head tilting to the side just a fraction, curious brown eyes shifting to blue. "You shouldn't blame yourself, either. What you did was the right thing, but—" Megumi touched her son's nose, making a small _boop_ sound "—having the power to do something doesn't mean you should always stick your nose where it doesn't belong. There are people, adults like me—" at this, she pointed at herself, and hoped that this point would _actually_ stick with him this time "—who can— _should_ —take responsibility. Don't take on burdens because you think you should; leave those problems for the grown ups, they can deal with it. Besides—" Megumi stood up, dusted off her floral skirt and patted her son on the head "—I'm tall enough to get a kitty down from a tree."

Arataka stared, narrowed blue eyes indicating that he was processing and storing away her advice— and if she knew him well enough (a given, Ary was her sweet son after all), probably sending it to the deepest parts of his mind, where it would rest forgotten until she had to scold him again.

He smiled, nodded, and said, "Okay!"

Megumi gave a soft chuckle, one hand picking up the grocery bag while the other took her son's. They set off at a steady but slow pace, Arataka compensating her larger stride with two of his own, sometimes skipping to burn off energy. He was just a child, curious and hyperactive; a small human in perpetual motion, too busy moving around to focus on something.

And children— children forgot so easily, there had been no need to worry to begin with; the little girl would probably forget in less than a week that a kid made her cat float the same way that Arataka forgot his parents' lessons— but that was okay, they still had plenty of time to teach him.

"I want ice cream." Megumi suppressed a gasp— to strike when she was at her most vulnerable?! That was— That was—! _Savage!_

With the verbal sweetness equivalent of honey, Megumi gave a short, "Sure, sweetie." Unconsciously, her grip on the grocery bag tightened… a _fraction_ ; that was what she would say, even though she could feel her nails pricking skin.

"And cookies!"

Megumi's only response was a _hmm_. Unfortunately for her, one that sounded like a yes— not like it ever sounded like a no, either, but she could hope.

Arataka's eyes shone bright, and he made sure to grin at her like the little demon he was before looking down at the pavement again, kicking a stray pebble out of the way.

The picture of innocence.

It occurred to Megumi, a little too late —after buying two tubs of ice cream (' _One for dad too!'_ ), three packages of cookies (' _What flavor do you want, sweetie?'_ ), and two ice cream cones for them to munch on the way (' _You should have one too!'_ )— that Ary was wearing one of those blasted dog hoodies, the ones with ears on top. The ones that she bought because the sum of Ary and hoodies equated an incalculable amount of cuteness for a woman who loved to gush over her son.

It had been an unfair fight from the start. _Aaaand_ that shouldn't make her feel any better for spending money like that, but she was already smiling and there was no sense in fighting another futile fight, so instead of worrying too much about it, Megumi thought about what she could do later; maybe she could teach Arataka how to pronounce her name? He still had problems with that for some reason.

* * *

The sound of the door unlocking and keys clinking announced the presence of her husband. And Megumi had enough time to put the tub of ice cream —spoon still lodged deep inside— aside on the table, turn around and open her mouth to greet him before a shrill voice cut her off.

"Hi, sweetie!"

And between the bouts of laughter, the lack of breath and the happy tears, she realized that maybe they loved nicknames more than they should.

* * *

 **AN:** Happy late Halloween! I dressed up as... something obviously improvised, but nothing can stop me from enjoying this holiday. I also got called 'lady' by a lot of little kids today— like I know I'm the one that is giving them candy, and that I'm like three times one of them, and that kids normally associate height with age for what are probably weird biological reasons— _but still!_ I'm not that old!

Also I'm, like, _terrible_ nervous about this one chapter— the end was very rushed because it was already due for sunday, and my productive hours are, like, at four am, where I have no filter and no fear (aside from darkness, mirrors, and looking at mirrors shrouded in darkness). I don't know if I got the combination of fluff/subtle angst I wanted, and I'm too tired to re-read the chapter because I have gone past the point of tiredness where letters start to melt together and become a mushy incomprehensible mess of black on white and I start to doze off.

Also, here we see Megumi imparting some Reigen Wisdom™ to her son. Remember what our Reigen said at the end of episode eleven? Yeeah, I hope you can see bits of that in Megumi's speech.

If I messed up somewhere mention it so I can fix it. Feedback is appreciated. Hope y'all had a nice spooky 31st of October.

God, am I tired.

Also haha nobody noticed I never gave a description for Reigen's parents I win. All the bought-out-of-guilt cookies belong to me.


End file.
